


Doll

by Anonymous



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Background Character Death, Fuck Or Die, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury, M/M, Mild Smut, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24092950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In 1916 Roger Taylor is turned into a porcelain doll when a spell takes an unexpected turn.In 2016 Crystal finds an antique doll which he accidentally transforms back into Roger Taylor.The spell dictates that if they don't fuck each other before the last stroke of midnight they will both die.
Relationships: Chris "Crystal" Taylor/Roger Taylor
Comments: 14
Kudos: 32
Collections: Anonymous, Queen Must Fuck Weekend





	Doll

**Author's Note:**

> Queen Must Fuck Weekend 
> 
> Prompt: Magic/Curse/Love Potion/Hypnosis

You won some and you lost some. The house had looked more promising at first glance than the reality was proving to be. There was some very nice antique furniture – the place was crammed full of furniture – but it was not of the sort that was currently fashionable. Most of it was not, in short, likely to be worth much.

Crystal sighed and looked around the messy attic room he had just entered. There were boxes and old suitcases stacked everywhere. Still, perhaps there would be something valuable in one of them: Crystal’s house clearing company would get a percentage of any valuables sold at auction.

They had split the house into three sections. Crystal had taken the attics and bedrooms; Trip was sorting through the sitting room and dining room while Ratty had drawn the short straw of the kitchen and the cellar. There might be wine down there but Crystal suspected the new owner of the house would appropriate any decent bottles.

The owner, a Mr John Deacon, was trying to keep out of their way but his friend, Freddie something or other, was continually wandering into rooms and exclaiming over items of furniture or clothing or ornaments. Mr Deacon trailed wearily after him requesting that he should let Crystal’s crew work. (“They are working, dear. I’m not in your way am I, darling?)

<<<>>>

The box was in a dusty corner of the attic room. It was in an old suitcase with rusting metal clasps. It was a wooden box with symbols carved into it. It looked like it had been made to hold something of great value. If it was a jewellery box then it was a very large one which caused little flutters of excitement in Crystal’s stomach. Was he about to find something amazing?

He opened the box slowly, prepared to be dazzled by a tangle of fabulous jewellery and instead found himself face to face with a blue eyed blonde porcelain doll. The doll was nestled in a sumptuous lining of dark red velvet. She had blonde ringlets, bright blue eyes, rosy cheeks and red lips. She was wearing a frothy white lace dress.

Antique dolls were not Crystal’s area of expertise but he did know that they were occasionally sold to collectors for large sums of money. And this doll appeared to be in tip top condition. Trip would be a better judge of her worth. Crystal closed the lid of the box and made his way downstairs to find Trip.

He discovered Trip, Freddie and John in a very dusty room which had so much furniture jammed into it that it was difficult to tell what its original purpose had been. Was it a dining room perhaps, or a drawing room? It was a large room and boasted at least three tables, one a sizeable metal one which looked very out of place, plus a couple of armchairs, two sofas, assorted dining room chairs which didn’t look like a set and several chests of drawers, bookcases and dressers. Crystal wasn’t entirely sure what a drawing room was but he didn’t think they were supposed to be furnished with such a random collection of items.

“Have you found treasure, dear?” Freddie wondered, looking up from a drawer he was rummaging through.

“I’ve found an old doll,” Crystal told them, setting the box down on a rickety looking round cherry wood table. “You know more about these things than I do, Trip, do you think she’s worth anything?”

The others crowded round and Trip opened the box. He whistled. “Very nice,” he murmured. “French, I think. I’m fairly sure there were a few dolls like this discovered earlier this year. They sold for around three hundred thousand each.”

“Isn’t she pretty?” Freddie cooed.

Ratty appeared in the doorway. “What have you found?”

As Trip explained to Ratty that they had discovered a possibly valuable antique doll, John took a closer look at her. He shuddered. “Those things give me the creeps. If we were in a horror movie it would be possessed!”

“No, she’s sweet!” Freddie protested.

“Creepy,” John repeated. He shook his head. “Mr Taylor, be my guest if you would like to keep it.”

“She might be worth a lot of money,” Crystal reminded him, “She seems to have been very carefully kept. I reckon the box has been specially made for her.”

“Yes, dear,” Freddie ran his finger along the doll’s cheek, “this little beauty could be worth a fortune.”

“I don’t care,” John said, tilting his chin stubbornly. “I don’t feel as if I’m meant to have her or sell her,” he added, frowning.

“Did your great-uncle collect antique dolls?” Trip wondered. “I haven’t seen any others but usually if people have these they are collectors.”

John shook his head. “Not as far as I know, although I didn’t know him very well.” He sighed. “I guess I was his closest relative, though and that is why I have inherited this.” He waved his hand vaguely at the dusty high-ceilinged room crammed with mismatched furniture and objects. “Do take the doll, Mr Taylor.”

“Call me Crystal, please.” Crystal studied the doll. He wanted to lift her out of the box but was wary of touching her. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and took some photos of the box and the doll.

Ratty peered at her over his shoulder. “Her expression looks almost real, doesn’t it?” Ratty remarked. “Eyes following you around the room...”

“Eerie,” John murmured in apparent agreement with Ratty.

Ratty punched Crystal’s arm. “Maybe if you kiss it you’ll find it’s really a princess. Like the Frog Prince only a doll.”

Crystal laughed. He very carefully lifted the doll out of the box, holding her under her arms. “Are you going to make me rich, sweetheart?” he asked, grinning and kissing her painted lips.

Suddenly, instead of the cool fragile lace of the doll’s dress, Crystal’s hands were clasping warm skin and instead of holding a doll in front of him he was clutching a very alive very naked blond. For a heart-stopping second he thought he was looking at Ben. “Ben,” he gasped. But the person who had taken the place of the doll and was staring at him with terrified blue eyes was not Ben. “What the fuck?” Crystal cried, almost throwing the person away from him.

The naked blond, a man, Crystal couldn’t help noticing, stumbled backwards bumping against a large rectangular metal table. The blond looked around wildly and, finding himself surrounded by Crystal, Ratty, Trip, John and Freddie he crawled underneath the metal table, sneezing as he raised a cloud of dust from the carpet.

Then there was silence and they all stared at each other.

<<<>>>

Eventually Crystal broke the silence. “Uh, did you...?”

“Yes, dear, we all saw him too,” Freddie advised him. “Who is Ben, dear?” Without waiting for a reply he added, “John, perhaps you could find him something to wear or cover himself up with?”

John nodded and hurried out of the room. Freddie crouched down and peered under the table. “Do you speak English, my dear?” he asked.

Crystal sat down on the carpet. “He looks a bit like Ben, doesn’t he?” he heard Ratty murmur to Trip, who agreed in a low voice.

“Who’s Ben, dear?” Freddie repeated.

“Ben was my partner,” Crystal muttered. Partner seemed too prosaic a word to describe Ben. His lover - the love of his life.

Crystal heard Ratty mutter something about getting back to work and thought he couldn’t recall Ratty ever being so keen to do his job before so he must be shaken by the doll’s unexpected transformation into a person.

Crystal peered under the table too. The table was in a corner of the room pushed against the wall and the man/doll was huddled as far into the corner as he could get, with his knees drawn up to his chest and his head pressed against his knees, blond hair hiding his face. He had not replied to Freddie. “Hey,” Crystal called softly, “it’s okay, you’re okay, no one’s gonna hurt you.”

John returned with a bundle of clothing and blankets. “I don’t know if any of these will fit him,” he muttered, “he looks a lot smaller than my great-uncle.” He knelt on the carpet, also sneezing as a cloud of dust enveloped him. He shoved the bundle of fabric towards the huddled figure under the table and the blond shifted uncomfortably as if he was trying to burrow into the wall.

“No one is gonna hurt you,” Crystal repeated. He glanced at the others. “How about we give him some space and see if he’ll come out?”

John looked doubtful. “Should we leave him alone?”

“We can be just outside the door,” Crystal suggested. “I don’t think he’ll come out while we’re here.”

“Darling, we’re going to leave you alone so you can get dressed,” Freddie called to the huddled figure, which showed no signs of having heard or understood him. “We’ll be just outside the door if you need anything.”

<<<>>>

John paced up and down in the hallway once they had left the room. Trip had disappeared, mumbling something about getting on with clearing the sitting room, another unexpected convert to wanting to work. Crystal sat on the bottom step of the stairs next to Freddie and they waited, listening intently for any sounds from the man/doll.

After a while, they heard a click and saw the door handle move. The door opened a crack. “May we come in, dear?” Freddie wondered. The door opened a little more and the blond peered round it, his face mostly hidden by a tangle of hair.

Crystal stood up very slowly, hoping the man would not be spooked by his movements. They all jumped, however, as the doorbell rang.

John, who was nearest the front door, frowned. “Who can this be?” he wondered, stepping towards the door.

The man/doll had frozen in place. Crystal made a ‘halt’ gesture with his hands. “Just stay there,” he murmured, as if he was trying to soothe a startled cat.

The visitor at the front door said, “My name is Dr Brian May. I am looking for a John Deacon? I’ve come to collect an antique doll.”

<<<>>>

They all sat around the large kitchen table and Crystal made a pot of tea. Freddie had managed to coax the doll into the kitchen too, and he was perched on a chair, looking tiny in his too-big borrowed clothing. Trip and Ratty had joined them in the kitchen too.

“You transformed the doll?” the newcomer, Dr Brian May, repeated in a dazed way for the umpteenth time. He shook his head. “One of you must have shown the doll affection,” he noted, in quite a different tone, now sounding accusatory.

“I gave the doll a kiss,” Crystal informed him coolly. “Do you take milk and sugar?”

“A dash of milk, no sugar, please. That is not ideal. Kissing the doll was most unfortunate.” Dr May sighed.

“Why?” Ratty asked, looking suspiciously at the man/doll. “Is he evil? Is that why he was imprisoned in a doll?”

“No, I’m bloody not evil!” the man/doll cried. It was the first time he had spoken and his voice was a raspy croak.

“Oh, good, you do speak English, dear,” Freddie beamed, “what’s your name, darling?”

The man/doll wrapped his arms defensively across his skinny chest and glared at them. “Who are you?” he countered, “Where am I?” His voice trembled as he added, “When am I?”

“I’m John Deacon,” John told him, “and I just inherited this house when my great-uncle, Richard Deacon, died. This is Freddie, who is my friend and is here to help me clear the house. These gentlemen are part of a house-clearing firm and you were present when Dr May arrived.”

Trip, Ratty and Crystal all introduced themselves. The blond started when Crystal announced that he was “Chris Taylor but everyone calls me Crystal.”

“My name is Roger Taylor,” the man/doll told them. His eyes met Crystal’s. “Are we related, then?” he asked.

Dr Brian May sighed heavily. “No, you two are not related, thank God,” he muttered, “If you were this would be even more of a mess than it is at the moment.” He studied Roger. “We are in London and the date is the first of July 2016.” He sat back in his chair looking at Roger expectantly.

“Twenty?” Roger echoed. Crystal set a mug of tea down in front of him and distributed mugs to the others too before sitting on the chair next to Roger. “Twenty sixteen?” Roger said. He looked dazed. “The last time I was... like this...” he gestured towards his body, “it was the first of July 1916.”

Freddie gasped theatrically. “You’ve been trapped inside a doll for a hundred years!” he cried. “It’s like a fairy story!”

“Yeah,” Ratty muttered, “like those stories where someone has been imprisoned so they can’t do any further harm.” This earned him a glare from Roger.

Crystal looked at Dr Brian May, who was sitting at the other end of the table from him. “Dr May, you clearly know more about what happened than we do, so perhaps you could explain?”

Dr May looked pleased, maybe slightly smug. “Please, call me Brian,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s a bit of a long story...”

Brian started by telling them he had an ancestor called Bernard Lacroix (Crystal noticed how Roger jerked in his chair, as if he had been slapped, when Brian mentioned that name) who had lived in a village in France near the river Somme during the first world war. (“First?” Roger whispered, looking appalled.)

Bernard had been married to Celeste and he was a sculptor. He worked for a stonemason specialising in memorials and spent his days carving angels to watch over graves. Business was brisk in 1916.

In his spare time Bernard liked to make dolls. Beautiful porcelain dolls. Celeste made them lovely clothes to wear and they gave them to the children of their relatives and friends to play with.

Bernard could not go to war (as an apprentice stonemason he had suffered an injury to his leg when it was crushed by a block of stone and it had never healed properly) but war came to their little village near the river Somme and Roger came with it. And Bernard fell in love with him. (Roger snorted. “He was a bit obsessed,” he muttered, flushing a little.)

“You became lovers?” Brian said, sounding a little uncertain.

“I fucked him,” Roger said bluntly, “because he wanted to and I thought every day might be my last and I wanted to have a human touching me. And frankly because he wouldn’t leave me alone until I agreed to fuck him. He was a bit obsessed.”

Brian looked like he wanted to argue and Crystal suspected that Roger’s version of the story was not the tale that had been passed down to each generation of Bernard’s family. “The first of July 1916 was the first day of what was to become known as the battle of the Somme,” Brian continued, “and the night before Bernard had a dream which told him that Roger would be fatally wounded on the first day of the battle.”

Bernard should not have been anywhere near to the actual battlefield but his dream had shown him where to find Roger, lying in the mud of no man’s land. He made his way there and discovered Roger bleeding to death. “Do you remember him being there?” Brian asked Roger. His voice was gentle. “He wasn’t sure if you knew he was with you.”

Roger hesitated then nodded. “It was all a bit hazy,” he mumbled, “I wasn’t sure if it was real.”

Roger had been very badly injured, but Bernard knew, from his dream, that he could use magic to save Roger. (“By turning him into a doll,” Freddie puzzled.)

“No,” Brian shot Freddie a withering glance, “not by turning him into a doll. He tried to use a healing spell but something went wrong and Bernard panicked and turned Roger into a doll.”

Roger, Freddie and Crystal all snorted with laughter and Brian glared at them. “This is not funny,” he snapped.

“No,” Roger agreed, suddenly looking sad, “being stuck inside a doll is no joke.”

Crystal thought of the box inside the suitcase and how dusty the suitcase had been. He shuddered, wondering if Roger had been conscious, aware of his surroundings, trapped in the body of a doll, in a box in a suitcase in an attic room, untouched for God knew how long. He considered asking Roger but he was not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Bernard had merely intended to transform Roger for a short period of time to give him the chance to work on the healing spell so he could turn him back into a human again. He hadn’t anticipated his wife, Celeste, finding out about his affair with Roger and confronting him when he returned to his workshop. Bernard confessed what had happened and asked Celeste to assist him in saving Roger’s life.

Celeste was a better spell caster than Bernard and performed a healing charm that would mean Roger would be uninjured when he returned to his human form. However, she carried out another spell.

Brian looked solemnly around the table. “How much do you know about magic?”

“Personally I always thought it was a myth until now,” Trip said, and the others nodded.

Brian nodded too. “Well, the easiest magical way to turn Roger back into human form would involve a kiss. So Celeste carried out a spell that dictated that if Roger was released from the doll by any means involving affection he would immediately die.”

“The bitch!” Freddie cried.

“I did fuck her husband,” Roger noted.

“That is still quite extreme, darling,” Freddie told him.

“Roger’s still alive,” Ratty pointed out, “although Crystal kissed the doll.”

“Indeed,” Brian said, resuming his tale. Bernard had been distraught when he realised he now faced a serious obstacle to getting his flesh and blood Roger back. He made a wooden box for the doll with protective spells carved into it. A place for Roger to wait until Bernard had worked out the spell that would free Roger without killing him.

“It took a while,” Brian told them. He looked worriedly in Roger’s direction. “Bernard died in 1970,” he said softly. (Roger simply looked blankly at him and Crystal thought that the time element of the story had not really sunk in for Roger yet.) “The first modification of the spell happened in 1951 when Bernard managed to alter things so that nothing happened if a child showed the doll affection. He was always scared a child would find the doll and play with it, inadvertently triggering Roger’s release and death. Two days before Bernard died he finally succeeded in modifying the spell so that now, if Roger was released from the doll by way of a kiss from an adult he would not die immediately. However, both Roger and the person who awakened him would die on the last stroke of midnight on the day Roger became human again if they did not have sex with each other.”

Crystal gulped some tea. “Uh... Is that...?”

Brian blushed. “Yes, Mr Taylor, I’m afraid that is still the case. You released Roger with a kiss therefore you and he must... er... otherwise you will both die.”

Crystal glared at Ratty as he stifled a laugh. “Fuck,” Trip muttered.

“Precisely,” Brian nodded, causing Roger and Freddie to giggle. Crystal sighed.

Roger turned to look at Crystal. “Sorry,” he said.

“Wait a second, dear,” Freddie frowned, “why didn’t Bernard just kiss Roger there and then?”

Brian explained that as Bernard completed the modification spell he had a heart attack. He died two days later in hospital.

The secret of the doll and work to find a new spell to release Roger without anyone having to die had been passed on to each generation of Bernard’s descendants. “Well,” Brian shrugged, “to those of us who can perform magic, anyway.” He glanced at John. “We must be distant relatives,” he noted, “since your great-uncle had the doll and my father and I have been working on the spell.”

Brian glared at Crystal. “And last night,” he ground out through gritted teeth, “we found a spell to release Roger with no harm coming to anyone.”

“Oh, now, dear,” Freddie said, “you know Crystal didn’t intend to end up in a position where he would have to fuck Roger or die.” He winked at them. “And it isn’t too bad, is it, darlings? A night of passion and you’ll both be right as rain.”

“Um... Would you be able to find a spell that would stop us having to er...?” Roger asked Brian, twirling a lock of hair around his finger.

“I probably could,” Brian said, “but not by midnight tonight.”

“You might enjoy it, dear,” Freddie suggested brightly.

Trip and Ratty sniggered and Crystal scraped back his chair and stood up in annoyance. “C’m’ on then Roger. Trip, you’re in charge here. See you tomorrow.” He stalked off without waiting to see if Roger was following him.

He could hear Brian bleating something about a welcome pack they had put together for Roger with information about what he had missed during his hundred year absence from the world and also something about money and investments made on Roger’s behalf. Freddie seemed to be reassuring Brian that they would all assemble back at the house in the morning. (“Well, that’s assuming Roggie and Crystal are still alive by then, of course,” he added cheerfully.)

<<<>>>

Despite being barefoot Roger followed Crystal silently to his car. Roger was wide-eyed, looking around at the houses and cars. He visibly jumped at the bleeping noise indicating to Crystal that his car was now unlocked. Crystal’s sudden surge of anger had faded. He opened the passenger door. “Hop in,” he invited Roger.

“I’m sorry,” Roger offered as Crystal entered the car.

“It’s not your fault,” Crystal grunted. He reached over and hauled Roger’s seat-belt into place.

“It is though, isn’t it?” Roger objected, “If it was only me that would die that would be fine, we could just let that happen, but now your life is at risk too.”

Crystal sat silently for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “No, Roger, we could not just let you die.” His next words were not considered at all. “What the fuck, Roger?” Crystal glared at him.

Roger drew his knees up to his chest, curling in on himself. “I’m not sure I want to be all alone here, stuck in the wrong time.” His voice wobbled as he said, “Everyone I knew must have died a long time ago. I don’t belong here.”

“You’re not alone,” Crystal protested, “You have me.” He started the car.

They drove in silence for a while before Roger asked, “Are you married?”

Crystal was tempted to say that hadn’t stopped Roger from jumping into bed with Bernard. He thought of Ben. He still thought of Ben as his husband, although they had never made it official. He was widowed, he supposed. There hadn’t been anyone else since Ben’s death, but now there would have to be. He was not sure how he felt about that.

Roger seemed to read his mind. “I didn’t know Bernard was married,” he told Crystal.

“Yeah, well, I’m single, luckily.” He thought of Ben again. Saying he was single felt like a betrayal. Roger did look a little like Ben, he supposed, at first glance. Then, once you took a closer look, Ben had vanished again as he did every time Crystal thought he had glimpsed him on a crowded tube platform or on a busy street or across a room. Crystal had sometimes chased after these lookalikes only to be bitterly disappointed when they had turned out to be imposters. He thought it might be easier if Roger bore no resemblance to Ben at all.

He knew, of course, every time he chased after a false Ben that it could not possibly be him. If he could have imprisoned Ben in a doll and kept him alive would he have done that? “I’m single and I also prefer blokes,” he told Roger. He cleared his throat, needing to change the subject. “I expect everything looks different?”

“Yes,” Roger agreed. “Some of the buildings are so tall! And there are so many motor vehicles! I haven’t seen a single horse or cart! And the way people dress is so... Everyone is so... uncovered!”

Crystal grinned. He switched the radio on. “I expect the music has changed a bit too.”

<<<>>>

Crystal was lucky enough to find a parking space outside his house. He supposed arriving home in the middle of a working day had some advantages. “Home sweet home,” he told Roger, adding, “Are you okay?” because Roger had fallen silent. “Is it all a bit much?” Crystal asked, gently.

Roger nodded. He looked lost, bewildered. He obediently followed Crystal inside. “I’ll give you the guided tour,” Crystal said, and started with the downstairs bathroom, which was just off the entrance hall.

He thought Roger’s eyes might pop out of his head. “Inside?” he queried, in a faint voice.

“Yeah,” Crystal said, “inside and although there is only one of me I have three inside bathrooms. There’s this one, then a larger bathroom upstairs and an en suite one.” Then he had to explain what an en suite bathroom was to his bewildered visitor. Roger was starting to look overwhelmed again. Crystal held out his hand to him and was pleased when Roger took it.

The tour ended in Crystal’s bedroom. He realised that he was feeling nervous about what would have to happen next and snorted. The idea that he had to fuck Roger or die seemed preposterous. It didn’t seem real.

The thought struck him that if he died maybe there would be an afterlife and he would be reunited with Ben. Roger could be reunited with all his long dead friends and lovers and relatives. Did Roger really want that? Crystal wondered what it said about him that he was not seriously considering that as an option. He was surprised by how much he wanted to live. Was it a sign that he had not loved Ben enough?

He pushed those thoughts away and determinedly focussed on what had to happen now. They sat side by side on Crystal’s bed. “I feel a bit nervous,” Crystal admitted.

Roger snorted. “How d’y’ think I feel? It’s been over a hundred years since I last...erm...” He smiled at Crystal. “I might... I haven’t been touched... I’m not sure... I think it might be a bit much, y’ know?”

“We can take it slowly,” Crystal assured him.

Roger nodded. “Thanks. Will you let me kiss you first?”

Crystal pressed his lips against Roger’s in response. He thought of the cool, smooth porcelain he had kissed earlier. Now, Roger’s lips were warm and chapped. It seemed vaguely wrong that such a newly minted human should have chapped lips already. Crystal tangled his fingers in Roger’s hair, pulling him closer, suddenly unexpectedly hungry for him.

When they broke apart Crystal cleared his throat, “Are you okay with using the traffic light system?” he asked, unprepared for the look of panic and confusion that crossed Roger’s face. “Rog?”

“I don’t know what that is,” Roger confessed, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

<<<>>>

Roger frowned. Crystal had realised it was going to be easier to leave explaining actual traffic lights for another time and had simply outlined the concept of green meaning that everything was fine and to go ahead, while yellow would indicate a need to slow down and red meant stop. “We can’t stop,” Roger pointed out.

“We have plenty of time before midnight,” Crystal observed, “and if either one of us needs to stop then we will stop. Okay?” He wished he had not mentioned traffic lights. His mind had drifted to a lorry hurtling through a red light, smashing into the little blue car that had innocently moved forward in response to the green light at the junction. The lorry’s brakes had failed. It had been an accident. Crystal had not had a dream forewarning him; he had not been standing by ready to transform Ben into a doll, taking him far away from the wreckage of his little blue car; the wreckage of his body.

“Okay,” Roger agreed, looking doubtful.

Crystal nodded making a mental note that Roger was extremely unlikely to stop him. He rolled over to fish lube and condoms out of the bedside drawer. He couldn’t tell what Roger was thinking. He snaked an arm around Roger’s waist. “May I steal another kiss?” he asked Roger.

The kiss was hungry. Roger’s fingers strayed to the buttons of Crystal’s shirt and began to deftly undo them. Roger’s hands were warm on his chest. They broke apart and began to undress. Roger was wide-eyed when Crystal was standing clad only in his briefs. “Underwear seems to have changed a bit from the baggy drawers we wore,” Roger laughed.

“Didn’t John find any knickers for you?” Crystal asked, unbuckling the belt that was holding Roger’s much too big borrowed trousers in place. “Are you going commando?”

Roger looked bemused. “What does that mean?” he asked, “commando?” he echoed.

“If you’re going commando you don’t have any underwear on,” Crystal explained. The too-big trousers puddled around Roger’s ankles and Crystal discovered that Roger was indeed not wearing any underwear. Naked, Roger was lean and gorgeous. Ben had been stockier. He must stop thinking about Ben. He decided to simply concentrate on Roger, who was looking quizzically at him.

“Are you okay?” Roger asked.

“Yeah,” Crystal muttered. “Sorry. Um...” He thought that even as a teenager he had not felt this awkward. “Shall we just get on with it?” He realised too late that this was not the most romantic proposition he had ever made.

“Yes, please,” Roger nodded. He did not seem in any way offended.

<<<>>>

By the time Crystal had three fingers inside touch-starved Roger he was quivering, his hands clasping and releasing the sheets. He was making delicious little oohing noises. Crystal crooked his fingers and was delighted when Roger gasped.

Ben would have been issuing orders. Do this - do that - I want this. Crystal realised that for some reason some part of him had expected Roger to be similarly vocal about his desires but although Roger was hardly silent he did not seem to use words to express himself. “Aren’t you just gorgeous,” Crystal informed him. “You’re doing so well. You’re going to take my cock so prettily, aren’t you?”

He withdrew his fingers from Roger, who moaned, sounding heartbroken. “You won’t be empty for long,” Crystal promised. “What’s your colour?”

“G-green,” Roger gasped, “Need,” he added.

“You’re being so good for me,” Crystal breathed, taking his time entering Roger as steadily as he could, savouring the tight heat around his cock. Roger’s breathing stuttered, coming in little broken gulps. “So good,” Crystal repeated. He forced himself to stop, to wait, to allow Roger to adjust.

“P-please,” Roger choked out, “I need you to move, p-please.”

“Asking so nicely for me,” Crystal growled, obeying him, starting to move, to find a rhythm.

“P-please,” Roger gasped, “N-not a doll now – I won’t break.”

Crystal thrust into Roger, grasping his hips, pulling him closer. Roger writhed as Crystal found the right angle to hit his prostate. Roger was making little musical mewling sounds which Crystal loved. “So good,” he chanted, “so good for me.”

Roger gave a series of little gasps culminating in a high-pitched squeak as he came, his cock untouched. Crystal laughed, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, seeing stars - whole galaxies of stars - constellations of stars bursting in front of his eyelids as he came. “You’re adorable,” he told Roger, nuzzling his neck, nipping at it, wanting to mark him, to let the world know he was Crystal’s. “You made such a lovely squeaking noise when you came.”

“I don’t squeak!” Roger protested weakly; his indignant response undermined by his dreamy tone and a certain underlying uncertainty.

<<<>>>

Crystal had considered asking Roger to shower with him but had felt oddly shy about that considering how intimate they had just been. That had been necessary, however, and Crystal was not sure how welcome any further intimacy would be. So he had run Roger a bath instead, making sure there were plenty of bubbles and he had showered alone.

Later, once they were both in pyjamas and Roger was cradled against Crystal’s chest as they nestled in a bank of pillows on the bed, Crystal asked, “Are you always that quiet, Roggie, during sex?”

Roger looked uncomfortable and Crystal thought that perhaps he shouldn’t have asked. “Bernard used to say it was the only way he could shut me up,” he told Crystal, adding, “although he said I made noises like an animal.”

Bernard sounded like an utter bastard to Crystal. “I loved all those pretty little sounds you made,” he told Roger. He gently rubbed Roger’s back. “I especially liked it when you squeaked.”

“I did not squeak!” Roger swatted Crystal’s arm, laughing.

“That was definitely a squeak,” Crystal stroked Roger’s hair.

Roger’s face clouded over. “What happens next?” he asked in a small voice.

“We cuddle for a bit and then I’m gonna introduce you to the wonders of television,” Crystal told him. He felt Roger shift anxiously. “You are gonna stay here with me for as long as you want to or need to and I will help you figure out modern life. It’ll be fun,” Crystal assured him gently. He was relieved when Roger relaxed against him.

“Thank you,” Roger murmured. “If you wanted to – um – make me squeak again, sometime, I wouldn’t mind,” he added, flushing a little, “only if you want to, of course.”

“I’d love to make you squeak again, sometime,” Crystal confirmed, grinning.

“I’d like that,” Roger said drowsily. “I’ve been told that sometimes I screech,” he added.

“Something to aim for, then,” Crystal pressed his lips to Roger’s forehead. “May I kiss you?” he asked. Roger’s lips brushed gently against his in response. It was a sweet kiss, liquid and languid; the soft centre in a box of chocolates.

“When I think of all the things you’ll get to experience for the first time I am so excited for you,” Crystal said, “This is gonna be so much fun.” He realised it was the first time in a long time that he had been thinking about the future with enthusiasm. He might have lost the chance of selling an antique doll for hundreds of thousands of pounds but perhaps he had found something more valuable.


End file.
